


Spiked

by michaelWayland



Series: Mentor? More Like High Profile Dad in Disguise [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Michelle Jones, BAMF Tony Stark, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Comfort, Date Rape, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dissociation, Gen, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Parent Tony Stark, Party, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Traumatized Peter Parker, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelWayland/pseuds/michaelWayland
Summary: "I know I'm a handful but I could've — I could've — I could've screamed louder, squirmed harder. " Peter slammed his forehead against the glass, which made Tony suck in air. "M-maybe even talked my way out just so I won't be as much of a burden. Or - or maybe even try and push her off but...but...FUCK!" Realizing what he had just yelled out loud, Peter pressed his mouth into a hard line, hugged his knees, and rocked himself. "I'm sorry." He parroted. "I didn't mean to cuss out loud, it's just that, um, well, my - my strength I - I can't, I can't — "Tony can't take it anymore; he mentally waved a middle finger on his gut as he closed the gap between him and Peter, and pulled him into his chest.....Peter's popularity skyrocketed after his stint at the Winter Talent Show, for better or for worse, and he certainly doesn't mind it......right?Flash never hit too close to homeAnd he didn't relived his worst nightmare to a party he was invited in.





	Spiked

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, so the culprit for the chapter being cut off are the emojis i placed sonewhere in the text. Apparently the system can't detect it or something.
> 
> Ok, so if you are here, it means you've read the tags. This story has homophobia in it, so if that topic offends you, dear reader, feel free to exit. 
> 
> This story also tackles about rape plus date rape drugs. If any of these serves as a trigger, then please read my other stories instead for your own good.

Peter isn't sure if he should be delighted with the slight boost in popularity he's enjoying right now.  
  
Ok, maybe slight doesn't even cover it but his performance on the Winter Talent Show had pretty much erased his pariah status on campus, for a while. Not that he particularly enjoys being one nor does he hate being an outcast that much, but if there is one good thing that came out of his invisibility, it's that he gets to indulge in his privacy for as long as he want; he'll hang out with Ned and have their geek talk, or work on the occasional Lego set, or go see the latest Scifi movie and debate about it afterwards, or he'd be hanging out with MJ and try to get inside her head however he could. His social media accounts literally blew up when he checked them after waking up. His performance was uploaded on Youtube, as if the snippets taken from fan cams circulating on Facebook isn't enough. His name was thrown and mentioned around on equal parts of mockery and obsession - the boys loathe him even more, and the girls loved him. Like, loved him. Peter was torn between blushing, cringing, and cowering beneath the sheets upon reading the stockpiling tweets and posts about him from boys and girls alike.  
  
_@bellaKim, 12:03 AM: my lady boner is so confused rn. #MidtownTechWTS_ _  
_ _  
_ _@EddieMercury, 12:12 AM: PENIS PARKER GREW SOME BALLS YA'LL_ _  
_ _  
_ _@itsBettyHooper, 1:07 AM: you know life is so unfair when @ptrparker looks better in girl clothes and make up than you. #MidtownTechWTS_ _  
_ _  
_ _@TheFlashThompson, 1:08 AM: Always knew Peter Parker is a faggot. @ptrparker yo penis i bet you love it when i call you dat huh_ _  
_ _  
_ _@vinnieWinnie replying to @TheFlashThompson, 7:43 AM: Poor MJ Penis Parker is probably using her as a front._ _  
_ _  
_ _@IanMckinney2017, 7:52 AM: fapped to a trap. Hunh. #MidtownTechWTS_ _  
_ _  
_ _@alicetinsleeeey, 8:07 AM: ok but can we talk about @ptrparker 's body? Ugh somebody call me when he's legal_ _  
_ _  
_ _@britneyReads, replying to @alicetinsleeeey, 8:09AM: guurl wru talking about seniors are allowed to date sophomores._ _  
_ _  
_ _@courtneyY, replying to @alicetinsleeeey, 8:09AM: babydaddy can choke me with those arms ugh_ _  
_ _  
_ _@lovelybillie, replying to @alicetinsleeeey, 8:11AM: guuuuurl guuurl GUURL his baggy clothes aint doing him justice. I'd gladly rip those off him._ _  
_ _  
_ _@alicetinsleeeey, replying to lovelybillie, 8:12AM: COUNT ME IN_ _  
_ _  
_ _@fattyPatty, 8:12AM: i wanna sit on @ptrparker 's drag face._ _  
_ _  
_ _@alicetinsleeeey, replying to @fattyPatty, 8:14 AM: gtfo u fake fat bitch youre grease would ruin his pretty face_ _  
_ _  
_ _@courtneyY, replying to @fattyPatty, 8:14AM: eww you're like 600 pounds you'll crush him_ _  
_ _  
_ _@fattyPatty, replying to @alicetinsleeeey, 8:14AM: *your. YOU'RE A STUPID BITCH_ _  
_ _  
_ _@fattyPatty, replying to @courtneyY, 8:15AM: eww you're like 10 pounds you'll stab him._ _  
_ _  
_ _@TheFlashThompson, 8:22 AM: you know something is wrong with the world when ugly hos would desperately do faggots like @ptrparker. Grow a dick, then maybe penis p would bang you._ _  
_ _  
_ _@alicetinsleeeey, replying to @TheFlashThompson, 8:25AM: go fuck yourself flash. Strap ons are a thing and I'd peg him in a heartbeat._ _  
_ _  
_ _@lovelybillie, replying to @TheFlashThompson, 8:25 AM: id gladly convert @ptrparker thank u very much._  
  
"Mr. Parker?"  
  
Peter hitched a breath and jumped out of his seat reflexively. He dropped his phone on the keyboard of his workstation and grimaced when the sound of it against the plastic tabs echoed. Wide eyed, Peter smiled at their Computer Tech teacher, who is scowling at him. "Yes, Mr. Callahan?" He smiled sheepishly, and he swore he heard the girls two work stations away from his ten o clock swoon, and he fought the urge to shrink in his seat. Damn his enhanced hearing.  
  
"You still with us?" He boomed. Peter flinched. For such a boring teacher he sure packs a lot of quiet rage.  
  
"Yeah." Peter stashed his phone as stealthily as he could on his jean pocket without breaking eye contact.  
  
Mr. Callahan crossed his arms, "Oh? Would you mind repeating what I said, then?"  
  
All eyes are on him, but strangely enough, some of the gazes felt really sticky. Peter made an effort of staring at the whiteboard in front, at the familiar HTML codes written in bold black letters just so his vision won't bounce around the computer room like what he would usually do when nervous. "Um," Peter bored holes at every letter, trying to find out something. Anything. He gulped when he realized he's drawing a blank.  
  
"Thought so, too." Mr. Callahan smugly said. "Take your seat. The next offense costs a trip to detention." He handed his palm outwards towards him, and Peter mentally cussed himself. "Oh, and hand your phone over."  
  
Peter didn't argue. Mr. Callahan is particularly known for confiscating ten phones minimum during his class; most are from the overly confident students who gets to seat on the farthest stations located at the corners of the room, and his luck landed him on the one near the exit door for being late to the class due to him trying out a route that isn't infested with girls ogling him, Ned's friendly recommendation ringing inside his head.  
  
_At least look at the new tweets about you. So nasty._  
  
Nasty doesn't even fit to describe the social media activity from this morning. How he wished he opted to hold his curiosity in at least until the end of the period.  
  
"Sorry, sir." He mumbled as he handed his battered phone. Mr. Callahan's strong, pudgy features softened a bit. "Retrieve your phone after the class." He pocketed it and gestured for him to return to his seat. Peter looked down at his steps as the girls sighed dreamily in unison. Mr. Callahan glared at them for not even putting an effort at hiding their thirst, which ultimately shut them up but did nothing on his unease. When he finally sat down, Peter focused on the moving arms of his luxurious watch; he watched the thin one move around, and when its lap is done, his gaze would briefly glance at the long one moving a breadth. He pretended that it was just an expensive gift and that there's nothing more on its surface, no monitors of any kind. Peter sighed. He really hates wasting Mr. Stark's time. He's got better things to do than babysit an internally struggling teen like him, so he might as well suck it up.  
  
Time passed by awfully slowly. Peter was too out of it to notice that the bell had already rung, and everyone around him is packing their stuff after being dismissed by their teacher. He headed for Mr. Callahan's desk. The man's eyes lit up in recognition and immediately gave him his phone back. "Second time means detention, alright, Mr. Parker?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Callahan." Peter grinned when he got hold of his phone. "I'm really sorry, though."  
  
Mr. Callahan eyed him with indifference. "You are probably the only student in my class who apologizes for using their phone during lecture. Be thankful you are a star student, Parker." He waved him off as he sat down on his desk. "I'm bound to be considerate. Now, head on to your next class. You're gonna be late."  
  
He profusely thanked the teacher one more time, who blatantly ignored him this time, and ran for the door. Then, as if on cue, his phone rang. Peter inmediately picked up upon seeing the caller ID. "Hi, Mr. Stark." He joyously greeted. Peter briskly headed for his locker, nodding politely at the ladies that checks him out as they pass by and dodging the glares of the gents.  
  
"Is Flash troubling you again?" Tony sounded tense. Not even a 'hey, kid'. Peter should really work on controlling his turmoil.  
  
"What? No. No, Mr. Stark." He chuckled nervously, "I'm fine."  
  
"Really?" Tony asked. "But your heart rate spiked again. Care to tell me what happened?"  
  
"Just got called to recite, that's all." Peter made a left. He slowly stopped to a halt when he noticed that his locker is plastered with bold bright sticky notes. "What the fuck?" He muttered to himself. Peter totally forgot about Mr. Stark on the phone.  
  
"Peter, what is going on?" Tony's tension transformed to full on concern.  
  
"My locker." He blurted before he can even think about it. Upon closer inspection, the notes contain phone numbers and really suggestive pick up lines. Some of them aren't even sticky notes, they're just notebook pages taped on to the surface. The weight of everyone's stares feels heavy on his back now. "They're, um, there's a lot of phone numbers on my locker."  
  
There was silence on the other line, and Peter took the time to think what Tony is thinking. His self degrading thoughts were interrupted when Tony laughed, which puzzled him. "Well," Tony huffed, "You won Performance of the Night for a reason."  
  
"This is weird." Peter sandwiched the phone between his ear and his shoulder. He started picking out the notes delicately so as to not leave any adhesive residue on his locker and piling them up by size.  
  
"I bet it is." Tony affirmed. "I checked Twitter. You are the talk of the campus, Pete."  
  
Peter paused his task. "You use Twitter, Mr. Stark?" While his mentor would certainly fit inside the environment in that platform, Peter just can't find it in him to add them up.  
  
"Under a fake name, of course." Tony mused. "The last thing I need is an account manager that controls whatever I tweet."  
  
"Wow." Peter dumped the sticky notes into recycling and proceeded to scratch the tape off the notebook leaves left.  
  
"You sound like you don't believe me."  
  
"No! It's not that." Peter sheepishly said as he gathered the torn pages and read the love letters for him. His cringe grew by an inch as he skimmed through the 'Call Me's' and the 'My place is free's'. "I just didn't take you for a Twitter guy, Mr. Stark. Can I follow you?"  
  
"Nope." Tony emphasized the p. "18 and above only. You're fourteen."  
  
"Fifteen." Peter corrected, "And, like, three-fourths."  
  
"Get your driver's license first and maybe I'll compromise." Tony said, "You can't tell anyone, though. I can't have the FBI knocking on my door."  
  
"Tony, I'm not that young." He whined. He leaned down and placed the notes neatly on the recyclables like what he did with the sticky notes. Peter doesn't think anybody would appreciate recycling crumpled paper.  
  
"Ah, there it is." He can practically see his mentor smirking from the other line.  
  
"There's what?"  
  
"You called me Tony." He sounded exasperated. "Really, I'm a gray hair away from snapping at you for calling me Mr. Stark."  
  
Peter tossed his binder notebook in favor of his trig notes and book. He closed the locker shut and he held the phone again. "I'm heading for my Trigonometry class, Mr. Stark."  
  
"What was that?" Tony faux-snapped.  
  
Peter yelped. "I'm, uh, heading for my Trigonometry class. Tony."  
  
"Good." Tony added, "And I'm seeing really thirsty and really homophobic tweets about you. If shit like this bothers you and you wanna talk about it, feel free to come over, okay?"  
  
"I will." Peter nodded. "I'm hanging up now."  
  
"Hi, Peter." A senior from across the hallway drawls at him. She raised a shy hand and beckoned for him to come closer, a toothy cat-eating-a-canary smile plastered on her angular face. She is taller by an inch or two - though that might be because of her heels - so he looked up. There was a sticky gleam in her blue eyes, and Peter fought every nerve in his body to prevent himself from voicing out the creeps tingling him.  
  
"H-hi." Peter politely said. He wearily looked at the end of the hallway. "Can I help you?"  
  
The lady batted her eyelashes at him. "So, I'm throwing a party at my house tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like to go." She consciously twirled her fingers at her brunette braid, and she is sticking her lower lip out.  
  
Peter pursed his lips. "Uh, no. I've got homework to do and -"  
  
Peter flinched when she rubbed his arm playfully. His vision dimmed, and a lump is welling down his throat.  
  
_I was wondering if you would like to have some fun with me, Einstein._  
  
Peter's heart raced. There, at the back of his head, Skip repeated the words over and over like a broken record. No fucking way. It's been seven years and he still isn't over it? Impossible. His nerves must be jittery, right? Clearly the lady means no harm - she definitely isn't Skip. Try as he might, the reassuring thoughts barely helped, but he is instead bombarded with his own self blame and self loathing as the mantra went on loop. "Don't be silly." The lady rolled her eyes. "It's Friday. You've got a lot of time for stuff like that on the weekends."  
  
Fair point. Peter had a sinking feeling she isn't gonna take no for an answer. "C-can I, can I take my friends with me?"  
  
Disappointment laced her gaze, but she cheerfully nodded. "Of course! It's a party, so the more people I can get, the merrier." She licked her upper lip and raised an eyebrow, and it was all Peter could do to prevent his knees from buckling. "Well?"  
  
"Y-yeah." He meekly said. Peter felt his phone vibrate from his pocket.  
  
The lady handed him a creamy stationary page. Written on it in fine cursive is the address, as well as her number, and her name - which is Alice T. with a heart for a period - is encircled thickly. "Head to your class now. I'll see you tonight." She left without another word nor a glance, which relieved him. He was practically paralyzed in the spot. He tucked the note inside his pocket, pandering on if he made the right call to just say yes, and picked up his phone with numbing hands. Peter ignored the Twitter follower request under the username @yinsenMk42  and picked up on the first ring. "Underoos?"  
  
Relief washed over him, but he still felt like drowning on the spot. "Can you breathe for me? Please?"  
  
Peter obliged. In that moment, he found it particularly hard to obey, and the freezing weather isn't helping, but Tony is breathing exaggeratedly over the phone with him, and Peter slowly found himself following the patterns with his lungs clawing out on to the surface for precious air.  
  
...  
  
Lunchtime came. Peter sat beside MJ on their table in the cafeteria with Ned. He stiffly arranged his meal on the table. MJ immediately noticed that something is wrong so she reached for his cold hand and started rubbing warm circles on his palm, earning a satisfied whimper from him. "Everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah." He whispered. "Um, would you guys mind coming to this party with me?" Peter said in a small voice.  
  
"You didn't declined?" Both Ned and MJ said simultaneously. They almost looked amused. Almost. Peter looks terrified about the prospect but they decided not to bring that up.  
  
"It would be rude." Peter shrugged. "Plus I don't get invited a lot, so." He chuckled unconvincingly.  
  
"Yo, MJ." Flash appeared out of nowhere and jerked his chin at Peter. "I see you're still sticking up with that fag."  
  
"Leave us alone, Flash." MJ growled, her fists balling. Flash threw his hands in the air. "Well, I'm just saying. He pretty much confirmed last night that he prefers dicks and you obviously don't have one. I would advise you to dump him since one of these days he'll eventually cheat on you with fatass over there." He gestured to Ned, who looks ready to pounce at Flash anytime soon. "His ass is thicker than yours, obviously," Flash mused. "Or who knows, maybe Peter prefers being topped."  
  
Peter made a noise beside her and sucked in air. MJ glanced at him, and lord have mercy he is trembling. Badly. His glazed eyes are boring holes over his sandwiches, and the color left his cheeks.  
  
"Flash, if you are showing anything through your statements, it's that your ass is being pounded over and over by Peter and that you're just sore about it." MJ snapped a little louder than what she would usually prefer. All the gazes in the lunch hall are pointed towards them, partly because of what she just said but mostly because Peter is sitting with them.  
  
"What was that?!" Flash matched her tone, but it was evident he was shaken. MJ smirked. She got the upper hand fast. She crossed her arms and legs. "If there's a gay guy between the three men around me, it's you, Eugene." She emphasized his name. She saw Flash shrink a little more. "Now that I mentioned it, that must be why you keep on calling him Penis Parker, yeah?" She mused, "That's an insult a fifth grader makes on a daily basis, but knowing your context, it makes sense."  
  
MJ is aware that she is making a scene, but if Peter isn't gonna speak for himself, she will, and she's had enough. She started gradually raising her voice to make sure everyone hears what she has to say. "You're always First Alternate because Peter is too smart for you to handle. He's always at the top of his class, while you are fighting for your spot inside the top four. Barely." Everyone around them was snickering, muttering similar things about Flash. He looked around wildly, clearly astounded that this is happening to him of all people. MJ laid back against the table and smugly looked at him. Payback's a bitch. "Peter is the personal intern of Tony Stark. That implies he's got better credentials than all of us in here for college applications. You, on the other hand, have incident reports of bullying stacked inside the counselor's office, forged signatures on permission slips and the like, among others. Should I continue? Because if the stuff I know about you doesn't make a good PSA on a lunch time, it certainly won't make a good reflection for the colleges you intend to apply to. And speaking of Tony Stark," She stood up and met Flash's wavering gaze. "He was here last night. You butchered and disrespected Eminem in front of him while my boyfriend got him to sing along to Rihanna as he films him while the female population is dehydrating themselves over him and the male population - which hopefully includes you - are literally and figuratively pressed against their seats." MJ received a handful of glares from the girls around when they nit-picked what she just disclosed (thank god they did), but otherwise the room is loud with mockery hurled at Flash, who looks like he is mentally willing the ground to swallow him whole.  
  
"Be thankful you're the team leader." Flash muttered underneath his breath, his balled fists on his sides.  
  
"No, you be thankful I'm the team leader." MJ smiled sweetly at him. "Because I care about my team's reputation. Unfortunately for me, that includes yours, First Alternate." She laced the nickname with as much scorn as she can handle.  
  
Flash had his eyes glued on the floor as he walked away in defeat. He took his spot at the far end of the cafeteria while everyone taunted him.  
  
MJ sat back beside Peter triumphantly. He was busy poking at his salad as his empty eyes stared at the space in front of him. He stopped shaking, good for him, but there still is something wrong with him. "Peter?"  
  
"I'm fine." He whispered monotonously as he popped a spoonful of greens inside his mouth mechanically. MJ and Ned exchanged glances. Something definitely is wrong.  
  
Peter felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket once more, and he watched himself at the back of his head pick it up. It sure feels weird, to see himself do things in his own eyes. It's like he personally detached himself. Why did he do that, though?  
  
"Can I just," Peter heard himself saying. "Take this phone call?"  
  
MJ and Ned nodded at him. His body took that as his cue and stood up, stiffly, and headed for the bathroom. He locked himself inside one of the stalls and answered.  
  
"Kid, if Friday pings me one more time I am going to come get you personally." Tony quietly said. "This is your third one, and it's barely two hours."  
  
Third?  
  
"Hi, Mr. Stark." Peter said in a trance, his voice devoid of any emotion.  
  
"Peter, you better tell me what is going on."  
  
Peter scrunched his eyebrows. Is something going on? Peter's mind raced back to the hallway, when this Alice girl invited him to her party. Yes, that must be it. "Oh, um." He bit his trembling lip. "I got invited to some party."  
  
Pause. Tony sounds like he doesn't believe him when he spoke up again, "Your heart rate spiked because you got invited?"  
  
"Yeah." Was the appropriate answer. "I don't get that a lot."  
  
Tony hummed over the other line. Peter picked up the familiar sounds of one of the Ironman suits detaching themselves from their creator, the metal clicks and the machine whirring pleasant music to his ears. "You can go." He sounded skeptical. "Have fun. You earned it. Just make sure you tell your aunt. Oh, and text us the address while you're at it."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Are your friends going with you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Send me their numbers too." Tony added, "otherwise you're good to go."  
  
Peter hummed affirmatively. He hang up before Tony can even get the chance to say more.  
  
What the hell is wrong with him?  
  
Peter's thoughts drifted aimlessly towards this party. He's not exactly looking forward to it, but it's better to tread the shallow waters no matter how much it bores him. What should he wear, how should he speak - nothing heavy to keep his mind anchored. He sent a quick text to May about his plans for the evening. She responded quickly and even offered to drive them there, to which he was thankful for. He then sent MJ and Ned's number to Tony before heading out of the bathroom and returning to the lunch hall, where people are dissipating already. His pals are waiting for him, and his food remained untouched. With a sigh, he held his head up and took his seat. He pretended not to notice the worried glances Ned and MJ are throwing at each other.  
  
...  
  
It was MJ who crashed into his place first.  
  
Peter had to prevent his jaw from slacking down the floor when she showed up in their door - her hair was tucked into a beanie, and her side bangs accentuate her face. She crossed her arms over her winter coat laid on her plaid top tucked  inside her ripped blue jeans. Very MJ. "Checking me out, loser?"  
  
"M-maybe?" He squeaked. MJ rolled her eyes but she looked amused. "I think you should try and get Tony Stark to coach you how to flirt."  
  
He opened the door for her, and she went inside. MJ looked around the living room curiously as she proceeded to seat down.  
  
Aunt May popped her head from the kitchen. She gasped in delight when she saw MJ, who waved at her. She took out a plate of sandwiches and served it to the two of them, grinning. "Help yourself out, okay?" She winked at MJ.  
  
"Thanks, Mrs. Parker." MJ nodded at May before taking one. She waved her off and proceeded to retrieve her keys, "Please. Call me May - though it is never too early to call me mother-in -law."  
  
"May!" Peter whined. His ears turned pink, and MJ nearly spat her sandwich out. His aunt merely giggled at him as she ruffled his hair and kissed him on the top of his head. The gesture intensified his color.  
  
Ned buzzed in shortly after. He gleefully joined them in the couch and helped himself too. Once they finished all the sandwiches in the plate, May ushered them downstairs. She tossed her keys to Peter and told them to wait in the car. They all obliged.  
  
Peter called shotgun. He has the address after all. Ned wore his confidence hat over his head, which prompted MJ to make a face. "If anything, that cowboy hat suits me more." She gestured towards Ned's Star Wars shirt and thick windbreaker and then towards her get up smugly.  
  
"It's my confidence hat." Ned defended. "We're going to a party so i need all the confidence I can get."  
  
"So, what's our game plan?" Peter looked at them through the rearview mirror. MJ's eyes darted everywhere as if looking at non existent mathematical equations.  
  
"Game plan?" She echoed. "Peter, we're going to a party. You don't go around planning how to have fun in a party."  
  
"This is my first party." Peter shrugged.  
  
"Correction." MJ smirked, "This is your first party and you aren't gonna ditch it literally two seconds after entering."  
  
Peter broke off eye contact and stared at the window. He focused on anticipating May to come out of the door instead of letting his mind make him think that he's ensnared by his parachute and he's going under the cold like a rock would.  
  
Alice T.'s residence is located on one of the more prestigious sides of Queens. Trap music was blaring loudly from the speakers placed outside, and the villa is illuminated in a bright purple hue everyone seems to love these days. One glance at the seniors goofing around in her lawn, red cups on their hands and sweaty bodies bumping and grinding to the music as they drank, and Peter suddenly wanted to back out. They are pretty much the only non-seniors invited.  
  
"May?" He gulped. "I don't think this is a great idea." He voiced out. Sometimes it's the better option. His aunt stared at him with doe eyes (it runs in the family apparently) and smoothed his hair. "I get it." She smiled, "It's hard to blend in, especially with the changes you are going through, but I think you really need to let loose a little. Right, MJ?" She winked at his lady at the backseat, who politely smiled at her. "Yeah. He studies so much it's disturbing."  
  
Aunt May returned her glance at him, as if to say, you heard her. "Live a little. Dance. Socialize. Drink punch - that goes to all of you. None of you are eighteen."  
  
Peter has a memory of tasting alcohol out of curiosity. He does not wish to relive the experience again.  
  
They got out of the car. Ned and MJ stormed May with gratitude, but Peter settled in for a quick hug and a kiss to the cheek. "Make sure you have fun, alright?" She prodded once more. Peter smiled nervously and nodded at her, enthusiasm leaking.  
  
Peter stared at the house looming in front of them. Taking a deep breath, he lead the way. He didn't worked on his confidence to chicken out on stuff like this. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and looked around for any familiar face. To be fair, they all are familiar, mostly, and that is because they go to the same school, but Peter is looking for a face in the crowd he knows at least by name.  
  
When the seniors partying halted and stared at them as they walked by, however, Peter felt his confidence bleed out of his skin, and he slowly shrunk into their gazes. The boys are muttering...stuff Peter would never want to hear, while the girls are making eyes at him. He immediately clung to MJ's arm like a lost kid. She returned the gesture with pleasure, and the girls are glaring daggers at her. She ignored them all.  
  
Peter is mentally calculating how many seconds it would take before they get kicked out for being too out of place, but luckily for him, Alice T. is standing at her front door, a red cup in her hand. She's wearing a skin tight spaghetti strap top over a thin cardigan with matching skirt that barely reached her thighs. "Welcome." She coolly said as she handed him the cup. Peter eyed the drink. He caught the whiff of mushed fruit, but he still took it wearily. Alice chuckled at him. "Relax, it's just punch. You're not the only one here who doesn't drink booze." She opened the door and strutted inside. Peter shrugged at his companions and they all went inside.  
  
The music was unbearable.  
  
Peter winced when the bass hit his eardrums. He knows there's no such thing as too much bass when it comes to parties, but he may have just reached his cap, what with his whole body feeling particularly woozy. The noises of the crowd around them didn't help matters. It's like listening to the torrents of a dam gushing water on a daily basis while getting lots of bass for white noise separately - and that is the least of it. He picked up the stench of booze and sweat. Dejá Vú hits him like a truck, which is odd. The strobe lights flashed bright colors, making him feel dizzy. Not knowing what to do, he decided to take a sip.  
  
The fruit punch tasted...weird. Really weird.  
  
The taste of fruit and sugar is there, but there's this lingering thickness despite the drink being anything but that, and it feels rather cloudy inside his mouth - oddly soft, dainty, but it amplifies the flavor. His tastebuds can recall precisely what particular types of alcohol taste like, and he is certain this isn't anything like that.  
  
"Ned?" He called over his shoulder. "Um, this punch tastes weird."  
  
Ned grabbed the cup and took a sip. "Tastes like punch to me." He shrugged, "Maybe your tastebuds are just off."  
  
A small part of him agreed. Brushing it off as paranoia, he took a few more gulps. The sugar kick helps on toning everything down.  
  
Alice appeared out of nowhere. She ditched the cardigan somewhere, apparently. She handed them more cups of fruit punch with a smile. Peter protested, showing her his half-empty cup, but she waved him off. "Dancefloor's always open." She gestured to the empty carpeted space in the living room, where people are grinding against each other. Peter was never thankful for the dim lights as he is now. "Snacks are on the counter. I wouldn't touch the pot brownies, tthough if I were you, but that doesn't mean you can't have some." She mused. Alice went for the counter and grabbed a bowl of chips and dip. "Help yourselves. It's a party."  
  
The second punch Alice has given him also tastes weird. At least it's consistent; his tastebuds must be really off tonight. He chugged the contents of his first cup, found a trash bag on the kitchen counter, and threw it there before turning to his other cup.  
  
"This is so cool." Ned was grinning from ear to ear. He picked up a piece of chip and popped it into his mouth. "We're partying with seniors."  
  
"How is that a cool thing, Ned?" Peter warily said. His senses are tugging at him furiously as soon as she drained the last of his punch. If he didn't know any better, it's his body's way of telling him he should get out. Fast. As soon as he can. But Peter shook his hands fervently. This is a party. No way is shit going down.  
  
"If by partying, you mean gawking at everyone in here in awe, standing awkwardly at a spot for minutes as you nibbled on chips," MJ said as she made herself a PB &J, "Then you should re-educate yourself on what that word means."  
  
"Define it, then."  
  
"Food." She shrugged. "Fun — or whatever your definition of fun is. Lots of drinks. And dancing." She glanced knowingly at Peter as she took bits off her sandwich. He returned the gaze with wide eyes. "No!" He yelped, which only made her smirk. "No, no, no, no. One and done, MJ."  
  
"The bass is sick, though." She wiped the crumbs off her hands on her shirt. "How about we all dance together?"  
  
"Um,no...?" He sheepishly smiled at MJ, who huffed and rolled her eyes and dragged him and Ned with her on the dance floor. "May told you to have fun!" She yelled over the loud music. Peter stared at her incredulously. His definition of a fun dance party includes his mp3 player, his pajamas, his door locked, and his blinds shut. Nevertheless, he found himself moving on instinct when she saw MJ dance. It was the typical party dance moves — fists in the air, hips shaking, feet bouncing — but she somehow made it stunning, or maybe that's just him. He mimicked her moves, although awkwardly because the three of them are practically fighting for space against the crowd of their taller, senior counterparts. Peter resisted the urge to puke — the stink of everybody's sweat and body odor is  assaulting his nostrils, and flaring jolts go up inside his body every time he makes accidental physical contact with everybody else.  
  
"Drinks for everyone!" Alice T. yelled happily over the music as she passed more drinks over the dancing crowd. Her eyes found his, and she honed on to him and handed him another fruit punch drink with a warm smile. "No alcohol for minors." She reminded him with a wink, and his head snapped to the other direction. Alice handed Ned and MJ their own with the same hospitality he received , and it almost wiped the glare from MJ. Almost.  
  
Peter took a sip and nearly spat the contents out. He settled for gagging. The weirdness went from zero to a fifty real quick. The thickness were now the consistency of piss flavored jello, and the cloudiness turned to mud. "Weird."  
  
"Probably spiked." MJ deducted. She was glaring at the red cup like it's a snake wrapped around his hand.  
  
Ned grabbed the drink from Peter's hand and tasted it. He frowned at the cup, "Tastes like normal punch to me."  
  
"Your weird tongue probably can taste the alcohol." MJ quipped.  
  
"Maybe." His eyes scanned the crowd, and Peter swears he saw Alice's gaze at them widen by a fraction. Jolly masked that as soon as she realized he's staring. She turned her back and headed for the kitchen, probably to get more pot brownies.  
  
"Ladies and gents, give it up for Penis Parker!" The senior from the DJ booth announced gleefully. Almost as if on cue, a lone white light shone above them, an unwelcome change of hue from the dark tones that made Peter wince. Everyone around him hooted at him in unison, save from MJ and Ned who was scowling at everyone.  
  
"Think you can bust some moves, Penis?" He mocked. There was a menacing grin on his face. "Or do you need to be dressed in drag first?"  
  
The dance floor erupted in laughter, which deepened the scowls from his girlfriend and his best friend.  
  
"Penis Parker. Penis Parker..."everyone pumped their fists in the air as they cheered in booming voices that made his heart thump wildly. The DJ took that as his cue and played some Lil John, which got everyone roaring.  
  
Peter's heart wants to be out of his ribcage. If he didn't do anything to brush it off, he fears he might explode.  
  
"Peter, I think we should leave." Ned said softly beside him.  
  
"No." Peter huffed. Ned was puzzled. "No, I'm putting on a show so we can get this over with, and then we leave."  
  
"Sounds like a plan." Ned wiped his brows. "Can I just have a seat? The heat is making me dizzy."  
  
"Yeah sure." Peter clasped his shoulder and squeezed it, which Ned seemed to appreciate. He took his spot into the spotlight, while MJ helped Ned prop himself on one of the couches.  
  
Peter popped his hips, and it felt good. His heart's pace is getting slower for some reason. But the more he danced, the more he felt exhausted. The room was spinning — or was it him who was spinning? — and everything is too bright, too loud, too stinky. His heart raced when the surroundings started to dim, and he felt his own legs get tangled beneath him. Peter fell face first, and it earned him the jeers of everybody. He suppressed a groan.  
  
His whole body feels heavy, but his head feels light. Disturbingly featherweight light. There was a hand grasping his arm, and his mind was soaring. He groggily popped his eyes open. Everything was like an oil slick — muddy, blurry, and colorful.  
  
His feet felt the wooden stairs. Hitching a breath, he counted his steps carefully to keep himself from dozing off. His senses were whispering to him not to doze off.  
  
A few more steps, and he was stumbling in a dark room. Peter was pushed into something soft, an embrace so welcoming that the temptation to just pass out for a while is winning over. There was a dull throb all over his body, an emergency flare, but Peter found it hard to respond.  
  
He stilled when he felt someone caress his face. "How are you feeling?" A cold voice whispered on his ear, her breath tickling the sensitive skin.  
  
"Terrible." Peter groaned. "I think I —"  
  
The lady shushed him. She flicked something on, and there was a warm glow beside him. Peter squirmed uncomfortably as the lady brushed his lips with her finger. His senses are going haywire, but his body is too tired to react. Peter's mind senses dejá vú. Something in the back of his mind whispered at him, and suddenly he was at his bedroom from their old place back when uncle Ben is alive.  
  
Peter gasped when somebody unzipped his jeans and cupped him. Peter whimpered and tried to shake the intruding hands off. His skin felt prickly, and there are four hands roaming around him without his consent. "No." He cried out. "Please, no."  
  
"Shush, baby boy." The lady slurred as she nicked his ear with her teeth. There was another one doing the same thing on his other ear. "You said you feel terrible, right? I'll make you feel good." A pair of hands found their way inside his boxers.

 _Trust me, Einstein. We'll both feel good._ Bile rose inside his throat as the hand stroked him, as tongues hot and moist as lava branded him, leaving trails of fire on his neck and his jaw and his shaft. 

  
Peter cried out. He tried to shake them off to no avail. His own body is betraying him. The lady took the opportunity and invaded his mouth with her tongue. Their tongues.

_I'll make you feel good, Einstein._

_Please, Skip. No. Stop. It doesn't feel good._

_Oh, it will, Einstein._ The phantom pains lanced inside him brutally. Peter knows he isn't there, but his nerves are exploding inside him painfully. 

_It will, Einstein._

 

_Shit! Oh, Einstein._

_Fuck, Einstein. So good._

 

His whole body felt numb from the pain and terror. His ears are ringing. Peter stared at the ceiling as he watched his strength leave him before his eyes, like it did before.

  
...  
  
Tony grumbled when he grabbed another contract he needs to sign from the pile of paperwork Pepper has graciously brought for him. He reached for his pen and signed his name on the space provided. "At least read that one first." Pepper chided, her arms crossed and a look of sheer amusement all over her face.  
  
"Friday can read it for me." He said without looking up. His stomach is grumbling, but Pepper insists they won't go to dinner if he didn't finished at least half the paperwork she brought. He can't help but feel like a high schooler. Tony grabbed another sheet — it was something about suppliers — and haphazardly signed his name off it.  
  
Tony's phone vibrated inside his pocket. He sighed in relief. Pepper eyed him suspiciously, but he just shrugged. "Calls directed to my phone means important, Pep." The Caller ID of Ned Leeds popped onto his screen. This can't be good. Furrowing his eyebrows, he chimed in enthusiastically, "Is Peter in trouble?"  
  
"Mr. Stark!" It wasn't Ned. The voice belongs to a lady. "Please, get us out of here." Her voice trembled slightly. Ned moaned in the background, "Spinny..."  
  
"Who is this?" Tony's humor left him.  
  
"It's MJ." She gulped a lump down her throat.  
  
From what Peter described, MJ is a strong, laidback girl who gives no fucks. Her tone was anything but that, and Tony immediately knew that something bad is going on. "Kid, what is going on?"  
  
"Ned was — was drugged." She made an attempt to steady her voice. "Ned drunk some of Peter's fruit punch. I - I went to the bathroom and Ned was half-asleep. He says he feels light, and - and Peter's gone."  
  
That was all Tony needed to hear. "Friday, deploy a suit." Pepper shot him a glare. "Does Peter have his phone with him?"  
  
"Y-yes, I think so."  
  
"Friday, track Peter's phone." Pepper tensed on her seat when he said that. Her annoyance morphed into worry.  
  
"Think you can find Peter for me, kid?" Tony exhaled as an armor started enveloping him.  
  
"Yes." There was a steely determination in her voice. Tony would've admired it if the situation isn't dire. She hung up, which would've annoyed him. "I have to go, Pep." He planted a quick kiss on her forehead before his faceplate came in.  
  
"Yeah, go." Pepper patted his armored back. "Get the kid out of trouble."  
  
Tony immediately sent the address to Happy and ordered him to drive there to meet him ASAP. He willed the armor to go faster. "ETA?"  
  
"Ten minutes and forty seven seconds." Friday informed him.  
  
"Power up the thrusters by 150%, Fri." He issued.  
  
"I'd like to warn you that this suit's —"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I am aware of that." Tony snapped at the AI. "Make it 175. We don't have the luxury of time, Friday."  
  
Ironman zipped into the New York skyline. The city lights beneath him were a streaky blur, but Tony thinks he's still slow. Painfully slow.  
  
Peter's drunken confession rang inside his ears. _It hurts, Mr. Stark_. And if he doesn't grow more gray hair patches now, it would bite him hours later.  
  
After what felt like an eternity, Tony finally reached the address. The house is crowded. It would take him lots of precious time to walk his way against the throng. "Friday." He said, "Scan the entire house for Peter."  
  
The villa's blueprint materialized before him. Friday pinged him by highlighting one of the bedrooms upstairs in red. Wasting no time, he flew and crashed inside the room through the window. Glass rained down everywhere inside, and there was a loud screech. Tony focused his vision on the bed, and dreadfully enough, Peter was there. The boy is staring at the ceiling, and tear tracks sliced through his blotchy face. His clothes are strewn all over the floor together with the young lady's clothes, who was gaping at him in her bra and panties.  
  
"Friday, snap a picture of the scene." He growled. The AI sent it to his phone afterwards. The girl clumsily wore her clothes and tried to run for the door, but Tony stopped her by firing a blast inches away from her face, prompting her to yelp and fall on the floor, crying. Before he can even think about it, he aimed another beam at her. It hit her square on her bosom. A pained scream tore down her throat as electricity pumped her veins in a half-lethal dosage, and within seconds she slumped against the wall. Her vitals indicate she was okay, but a twisted part of him wanted her to be anything but.  
  
Tony ejected himself out of the suit and ran towards the bed, ignoring the chilly night air coursing through his body. "Peter?" He whispered. He wiped the tears off the boy's face. Tony made the mistake of looking into his eyes and his knees almost gave out.  
  
Peter was staring at the ceiling, but there is no light in his eyes. Peter, whose eyes would remain bright no matter how dark the situation is.  
  
But this isn't dark; this is fucked up.  
  
"Underoos, please look at me." He lightly tapped him on his flushed baby cheek. "It's Tony. I'm getting you out of here." Not knowing what exactly to do, Tony retrieved the boy's clothes off the floor and slung them to his arm and shoulder before returning to his side.  "C'mon, buddy." He slighly adjusted the rough denim draped clumsily over his shoulder, as well as the science pun shirt and high thread count sweaters over his arm so they wouldn't slip.   
  
"Stop." Peter mumbled. Tony felt something inside him turn to dust.  
  
Tony hoisted the boy up. Peter trembled when he made contact, so Tony wrapped the comforter around his naked body before re-initiating contact. Peter stiffly sat up and stared at the space in front of him. Tony fumbled for his phone and dialed Ned's phone. MJ picked up on the first ring. "I'm taking him to the compound." He informed her. There was a lot of panicked noise in the background.The lady sighed out of relief. "Do you guys need a ride home?"  
  
"I called Ned's mom." MJ quietly said.  
  
Tony nodded stiffly. "Good. Get yourselves out of here, you hear me?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
That was enough for him. Tony hang up, tucked the phone back to his jeans, and returned his attention to Peter. "Peter, can you hear me?" He's dying to squeeze Peter to comfort him just a little bit, but something tells him it's a bad idea. "Son? Please, say something."  
  
"Stop." Peter croaked. A lone fat tear rolled down his cheek.  
  
"Friday," Tony made an effort to steady his voice. "Take Peter downstairs." He ordered as he secured the comforter around him the best he could. "To Happy. Tuck him in the backseat."  
  
His suit came to life, and it gently lifted Peter up bridal style with its cold metal arms. The armor hovered for awhile, and when it realized that Peter isn't going to fall off, it went out the window ever so slowly.  
  
When the suit left his peripheral vision, Tony took a seat on the bed and forced himself to breathe in and out, slowly and deeply, as his heart raced erratically upon trying to shake off the images forming inside his mind as well as the cries ringing in his head.  
  
When he felt better, Tony ran downstairs and into the car, taking his place into the shotgun seat. He ordered Friday to take the suit back to the compound.He took a rugged breath as he tried to spare a glance at Peter in the backseat. He's clutching at his blanket like it's a life line. Even Happy looked shaken. His driver stared at the clothes on his arm and gulped a lump down his throat. He took initiative on turning the heater on inside the car, which seemed to ease both boys.  
  
Tony spun his phone on his hands. "I should call someone." He said quietly to himself. "But I don't know who to call first. Should it be the police station, my lawyer, my therapist, or Pepper? Hap, help me out."  
  
"Call Pepper, boss." Happy nodded at him. "She gets you to calm down."  
  
"Right." Tony breathed. "Of course. Just a sec." He tapped a sequence in his watch. "Friday, run a scan on Peter's blood. Tell me what exactly did that bitch drugged him with."  
  
"Mr. Parker has 1000 milligrams of Rofinol in his bloodstream, as well as 350 milligrams of Ketamine." The AI informed him.  
  
Tony had to brace himself into his seat to prevent himself from punching the window.  
  
"It seems like Mr. Parker's body is slowly fending the drug off." Tony wanted to give himself a pat on the back mentally. He made the good call of getting Peter scanned, but his mind is too out of it.  
  
Peter is starting to tremble again. Part of him hoped his metabolism would work on the drugs slowly. Peter doesn't have to deal with what happened almost immediately. Tony just cannot imagine the information overload swallowing him down, as if he wasn't broken by what had just happened.  
  
"I think you should sit beside him, boss." Happy was choking the steering wheel.  
  
"Bad idea." Tony immediately snapped. "He was...I don't think he'd appreciate a stranger anywhere near him after what happened." He wiped his face with his hand frustratingly.  
  
Happy raised an eyebrow at him. "You're far from a stranger to him, boss. I think it's pretty obvious."  
  
Tony stared at the kid, who just looked away to avoid his gaze and stared at his hands. Peter seemed to shrink more beneath his gaze — and he was scrawny as it is — as he moved to the side and leaned against the car door, taking in the gloomy scenery outside.  
  
  
Tony and Happy exchanged glances. Of course, Peter is listening to their banter. His small move of sitting on the sides so there's room for one more seemed to confirm Happy's point. Defeated, Tony went out of the car and claimed his spot a few inches away from Peter in the backseat. To his astonishment, however, Happy revved the engine, almost as if he is wishing his boss to seat beside the kid despite what his instincts told him.  
  
The drive back to the compound was unnervingly quiet, save for Peter's sniffles and soft sobs, but Tony knew better than to tune in to the radio for some music or gossip. He went against his gut by sitting beside Peter, who looks like he needs every breathing room he could get. He's not going to do it the second time around.  
  
"I'm sorry." Peter quietly said beside him, his voice hoarse.  
  
Baffled, Tony shifted so he is facing the kid. Under normal circumstances, he would've snapped at him too for mis-apologizing.  
  
"I-I should've done something." The kid sobbed. Another stray tear managed to escape from his eyes. Shit. The drugs are wearing off, and it doesn't fare too good. "I never should have attended the party that way I would not be wasting anybody's time right now." He wheezed bitterly, which made Tony's heart ache. "I know I'm a handful but I could've — I could've — I could've screamed louder, squirmed harder. " Peter slammed his forehead against the glass, which made Tony suck in air. "M-maybe even talked my way out just so I won't be as much of a burden. Or - or maybe even try and push her off but...but...FUCK!" Realizing what he had just yelled out loud, Peter pressed his mouth into a hard line, hugged his knees, and rocked himself. "I'm sorry." He parroted. "I didn't mean to cuss out loud, it's just that, um, well, my - my strength I - I can't, I can't — "  
  
Tony can't take it anymore; he mentally waved a middle finger on his gut as he closed the gap between him and Peter, and pulled him into his chest. Peter froze for a moment, and Tony almost immediately regretted it. He was about to let vibrating boy go when his fresh tears are soaking his shirt, except Peter leaned in closer to him and wept.  
  
The waterfalls drenched his shirt, but it's not what he's furious about; he's enraged at the agony in Peter's wails as hot tears streamed freely down his face, he's frustrated at the fact that the sweet, pure boy in his arms are handed shit over and over again, and he's annoyed that he got attached way too much that he's actually reflecting the pain from his cries.  
  
He doesn't mind the last part, though, and that thought downright frightened him.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
